


For a Scarf in October

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Metrosexual Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Scarves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scarf is just a scarf, right? (Sam and Dean take a pointless journey through the Halloween-decked aisles of Target.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Scarf in October

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me, I'm writing lots in my little bubble!bunker world of Nothing is Wrong and Everything is Happy before season 9 starts and this headcanon is dashed to pieces. Happy October 3rd.

The start of October was always the same. To Sam it had the same aura that Christmas did: festivities arriving far too soon, going largely unnoticed by him. But it was different now; they had a place to settle for once, and as he trundled his cart down the aisles of Target, he found himself basking in how reassuring that felt.

A few other customers wandered the aisles. It was late in the afternoon, and the pouring rain outside made the inside of the store seem like a warm, dry haven.

Seeing the far walls decorated with paper cut-outs and stringed-together letters reading ‘Have A Spooktacular October!’ seemed odd. He never paid it much attention before. Pumpkins were for eating, ghosts were for laying to rest, and anything with fangs most likely didn’t have the best intentions.

Dean, however, was having a whale of a time.

“We need candles,” he insisted, putting a box of ghoulish white things into the cart. The box sank down and rattled off the top of a soda cleverly named Butterbeer, falling with a _paff_ into a pile of themed candy, which Dean was adamant they needed to stock up on. In the case of a candy-related apocalypse, maybe, but Sam didn’t see that happening any time soon.

“We don’t need candles, Dean,” Sam said, picking up the orange box and putting it back on the shelf. “The bunker has enough to last us at least ten lifetimes.”

Dean pouted and threw the box back into the cart. “Trust me on this, okay? These things are gonna be gone by the time Halloween actually comes around.”

Sam squinted at the candles’ vaguely phallic shapes, wondering what the point of the Edvard Munch-esque screaming faces embedded in their sides was.

Dean huffed and tugged the cart further along the aisle, sparing Sam a quick glance. “What’s the big deal, Sammy? It’s October. We finally get to _have_ this stuff.”

“We don’t _need_ this stuff.”

Dean set his jaw and put a chain of pumpkin-coloured streamers into the cart beside the cola cans. “Nobody needs this stuff. But people _like_ this stuff.”

“We’re not people.”

Dean got what he meant. “We could _try_ being people for once. Cas is a person now too, so we oughta do our best to... you know,” Dean shrugged, ruffling his leather jacket on his shoulders, “show him what being a person’s all about.”

“With streamers,” Sam said, dully.

Dean gave a small, yet bright smile, eyes still on the shelf in front of him. “Exactly.”

They wandered between aisles casually, without much thought to outside this trip. For all the pointlessness of everything they were buying, it was nice. It was nice to see Dean being attentive towards doing things that the world didn’t hinge on him doing. Call it a distraction - albeit one they might not be able to afford in the long run - it was good to spend time together, and have the only demons be the hook-nosed witchy-shaped ones stuck on every corner of the store.

October was for Halloween. November was for Thanksgiving. December was for Christmas.

That was new for Sam. It was new and it was interesting. October was usually a mess, November was the start of a freshly-renewed mess, and December was often the most festive mess of the year. Having something else to guide his time was somewhat relieving.

“Ooh!” Dean cooed suddenly, making Sam startle and almost drop the pair of socks he was holding. Dean ran away, excitedly barking out, “Scarves!”

Sam pushed the cart closer, following where Dean’s boots had taken him.

The elder Winchester was now standing at the altar of ‘Fresh New-Season Styles’, hands grabbing at chunky-knitted this, that, and the other. Everything before him was coloured brightly, plush and dangling, swaying on their small hangers as Dean’s rough hands squashed their wool in his grip.

“Scarves,” Sam said.

Dean’s eyes shone as he looked up. “Yeah. It’s freaking freezing outside, and you know it’s gonna get worse. Scarves.”

Sam parted his lips to question his brother, but closed his mouth again when Dean started draping colours over his shoulders.

“What d’ya think?” Dean asked, turning this way and that to show off the black-and-white layered shape adorning his neck. “Too floofy?” He stuck that one back on its hook, and instead put a thick blue snake around himself.

The smile and open-eyed gaze he directed at Sam bordered on sultry, which made Sam smirk. That was Dean’s ‘ _look at me Sammy, I’m pretty_ ’ expression, which Sam had long known represented nothing more than Dean’s confidence.

“How about red?” Dean muttered, draping woollen line after line around himself, then taking them all off one by one. He didn’t seem keen to settle on one, but Sam was patient as he watched. Dean wasn’t smiling constantly, but Sam definitely saw that happy spark at the back of his eyes.

“Magenta, really?” Sam grinned, shaking his head as Dean petted at the wool.

“Brings out my eyes?” Dean asked, tilting his head and batting his eyelashes at his brother.

“Accentuates your hubris perfectly,” Sam responded, a deft quirk in his smile.

Dean snorted and tossed the scarf back onto its hook. Sam tapped his fingers on the shopping cart’s push-bar, looking around himself as he waited for Dean to decide on something.

His eyes chanced upon the opposite side of the aisle, seeing more scarves there. He raised his eyebrows, then looked back to Dean, who was happily rubbing his cheek against a grey item, knitted thicker than his bicep.

“Man. I love new wool, you know?” Dean murmured, only half for Sam’s benefit.

“Uh, Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean put the scarf back, then plucked out a green one with long tassels which twined together as he swiped them with a finger.

Sam cleared his throat. “I think these are women’s scarves?”

“What? No, they’re not―”

Sam tapped Dean on the arm, and when he was looking, pointed across the aisle at the men’s selection. Dean glanced over, then back to the towering collection of coloured scarves that he had been so enthusiastically petting.

Dean’s throat pulled up in a gulp. Sam didn’t miss that his lower lip almost wobbled, eyes kept down.

“Well,” Dean said, frowning, forcing a gruffness into his voice as he went on, “yeah, obviously. I mean, they’re... Colourful.”

Sam watched that slow and regretful look that Dean gave the men’s scarves. They were all drab black, grey, and blue, hanging limp and quiet, not exciting or plush at all.

Sam wasn’t a stranger to Dean’s recent affinity for brightly-coloured clothes and softness, but he was truly thrown by how sad Dean seemed to be, putting his green scarf back on its hook.

“But,” Sam said, feeling the need to rescue his brother, “it’s not like they actually _are_ any different. Right?”

Dean’s eyes hadn’t moved off the coloured wool. He tucked his lower lip under his tongue, wetting it slowly.

“Apart from the label,” Sam added.

Dean opened his mouth, looking down at his feet. Sam had no idea what Dean was thinking, but he wasn’t immediately turning away and grabbing a men’s scarf, which was very much unlike the kind of man that Dean used to be.

“It’s not like anybody could tell, outside the store,” Sam continued, trying to be encouraging. “You didn’t. And I didn’t. And a scarf is just a scarf, anyway.”

Dean pressed his lips together, managing a tiny smile as he tipped his head.

Sam tried to hide his smirk, raising his eyebrows as he grabbed the cart and drifted past Dean’s back. “Hurry up and decide, because I’m going to the checkout. We need to stop off somewhere and get dinner.”

Dean didn’t answer, but Sam heard the swish of leather as Dean moved his arms. Grinning to himself, Sam made it to the end of the aisle. He paused there, and he looked back.

Dean hurriedly tried on six scarves, squashing them under his big hands, muttering to himself, thinking hard. Flashes of smiles graced his lips, flutters touched his eyelids - but at last, his face painted over with a satisfied smile. He wore a fat, rich brown scarf, tendrils rather than tassels hanging over his chest, the rope of it scooped around his head, almost covering his ears. It matched his jacket well.

Sam prepared something to say for when he came to join him, but those intentions dissipated when Dean then turned to the men’s scarves, looking over the selection.

Sam had thought Dean was past that now; there was no need to hide behind pretence, not when Sam clearly already knew that Dean preferred the coloured ones.

But Dean swiped up one scarf, then scurried down the aisle, meeting Sam’s eye as he approached. He tugged down the front of his brown scarf so his mouth was visible, showing a lopsided, perfectly satiated smile. “For Cas,” he said, waggling the navy-blue flopping length that was bundled in one hand. “He’d probably like it.” He mumbled that last part, and Sam bit back a grin, hearing the unsaid ‘ _Well, I_ hope _he likes it._ ’

“Right, I’m sure he will,” Sam said, starting to push the cart towards the checkout. “Matches his eyes, or something.”

Dean left small dents in his lower lip, still peering at the scarf he’d picked. “Nah,” he muttered. “Cas’ eyes are brighter.”

Sam tried not to smile quite so widely, but seeing that tiny flush on Dean’s cheeks really was something to behold. They’d both pretend the blush was absolutely-definitely from the warm scarf Dean was still wearing proudly, not from anything else.

Having Dean say such things about Cas aloud, to Sam, was unreasonably pleasant. He had been waiting for Dean’s affirmation - God only knew what for - and he was getting closer to the mark.

One day they’d get there.

In the meantime, Sam was prepared to suffer through yet another sidetrack because, of all things, Dean had spotted pumpkin pie priced on special. Smiling, he trailed after his brother.

That scarf did look pretty good on him.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this could tie in nicely with [Manscaping](http://archiveofourown.org/works/985607).
> 
> [Reblog?](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/62967026808/for-a-scarf-in-october-dean-castiel-1-700) (Or leave kudos. That's good too~)


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